Preparedness
by LittleLongHairedOutlaw
Summary: Erik goes to great lengths when he is getting ready to go out with the Daroga


**A/N: Part one of madamefaust's prize for coming first in the PotORarerPairs Fic Contest!**

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The first order of business is a long bath. He bathes daily as it is, but it is normally quick to spare a detailed examination of himself. This time he lingers in the bath, cleaning and re-cleaning and checking his nail beds. The water grows cold, and he changes it for hotter water, soaking with sandalwood soap. His fingers and toes are wrinkled and tingling by the time he steps out, and he scrupulously uses two towels to ensure he is fully dry.

Then for the under layers. He is fond of the softest fabrics against his skin, and that is as true of his undergarments as it is of his mask.

He has chosen a fine silk shirt for the occasion, with a faint gold tint. It draws out his eyes, and his eyes have always been his best feature. He was told, once, that they hold all the mysteries of the world in them, though that may just have been fanciful talk. Or an attempt at poetry.

He supposes even he has to have one attractive feature.

The waistcoat he has laid out is a soft grey. Grey is not a colour he has ever been particularly fond of, but recently he has developed an appreciation for it. It softens his angles in a way that keeps him from looking quite so gaunt, and he is not the only one who enjoys that. Try as he may he can never seem to put on weight, so the illusion of being just a little bulkier is oddly satisfying.

Paired with black pinstripe trousers, and black tails, he is, he thinks, quite dashing tonight.

But of course he is never an accurate judge of such things.

He adjusts his cuffs, and seals them together with simple black cufflinks. Signet ring on his left little finger, gold band on right ring finger. He loops the thick gold chain of his watch as he attaches it to his waistcoat, slips the watch into his pocket. It is perfectly wound, and he smooths his thumb over the gold inlay as he lets it go. He is generous with his favourite cologne, a little nutmeg, a little woodsmoke, something that smells of nights beneath the Persian sky and makes his breath catch in his throat.

He is far from an attractive man. He knows that better than anyone else in the world. But there is something about how he looks tonight, dressed in these finest of his clothes, with his cologne and his hat and a soft grey mask, that leaves him feeling a great deal less objectionable than usual.

He might almost kiss himself, if such a thing were possible.

Instead he settles for nodding at his reflection. He eases black gloves on over his hands, and picks up his cane. The full picture is one of genteel respectability, and there something satisfying in seeing that.

A knock at the door as he turns away from the mirror very nearly startles him, but he has been expecting it to come at any time.

"Are you soon ready, Erik?" Rahim's voice through the door is impatient. Clearly he has been dressed and waiting for some time. Rahim has never been one to linger over his preparations. That is a vanity solely for Erik himself.

In answer, Erik opens the door. "I am ready." And the sight of Rahim almost takes his breath away. A similar dark suit of clothes, with a blue shirt that draws out something in his eyes, makes them shine greener than ever. He has trimmed his beard, and his hat is set at just enough of an angle to be teasing.

Sometimes, the reminder that it is a very attractive man who loves him, can come as a bit of a shock. And Rahim has always been a very attractive man.

His smile, now, is soft. "It's only dinner, Erik."

There is nothing only ever dinner. Dinner will lead to coming home, to wine and kisses, and soft touches, and so dinner with Rahim must always be treated as the occasion it is, for what it leads to.

Darius is out for the night, and Erik smiles back. "Not just dinner."

Rahim's smile broadens, and as their lips meet, Erik is very glad that he went to such trouble with his preparations.


End file.
